art is never done

art is never done. it's either put aside, tossed away, or given to the world.
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seen on the net:
there was a street that a local service club cleaned regularly. but the street became confused and angry when it found out that it had been adopted.
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she flung open the door of her apartment. she flung off her coat and it landed on the floor. she flung herself onto her couch and started to cry.
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he tried to commit suicide by cutting his wrists. he used a sheet of paper because it might make a paper cut.
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there's an updated version of the book portrait of the artist as a young man. the protagonist is named stephen dudelus.
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the inverse ration of denials -- the stronger the denial, the more true the accusation and the deeper it's hidden away.
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a cop in a small town. his biggest worries -- shoplifting incidents -- also known as fivefinger discounts -- at the local walmart and auto accidents -- also known as fender benders -- in its parking lot.
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betts thought he would have them for the rest of his life. he definitely hated them for the next month and a half. by then, the hate had dropped to a low level of dislike.
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he didn't have the guts that god would give a mosquito.
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"political movements remind me of other movements."

"symphonic?"

"no. bowel."
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he no longer cared about impressing anyone with his coolness -- or what other would think is and was cool -- because he had become too old to worry about trivial matters like that. he now cared mostly about quality.